


cover all your cracks

by quantumducky



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, also me: does this two days in, me: i'm not going to post anything until i'm back at home, spoilers up to 176
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:20:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky
Summary: "It wasn't supposed to be you."
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 178





	cover all your cracks

**Author's Note:**

> working title: things that will not happen in 177 but i can dream
> 
> this is! unedited! maybe i will improve it later i just wanted it Out Of My Brain. if i go too long without posting a h/c fic i simply wither away

As soon as they’ve made it to relative safety, Jon practically throws himself at Martin. His hands flit over his face and body, checking reflexively for injuries that don’t exist before finally settling on the one that does: a small thing, practically a shaving nick, where Trevor Herbert’s knife dug into Martin’s throat. Jon’s fingers brush over it, delicate, careful, but Martin still flinches.

“I’m sorry.” His face is pinched with anxiety, but his eyes are wide and guilty. “Martin, I’m so sorry, it wasn’t supposed to be- I didn’t want any of that to happen, not to you. It shouldn’t have happened to  _ you.” _

Martin catches his hands and doesn’t meet his eyes. “Of course you wanted it to happen. You told Trevor he was bait. You let him catch us so Basira could catch him. I get it, okay, it was- it was the only way to find her, right? I’m not… I don’t blame you for that.” He sighs. “I might blame you for not  _ telling _ me that’s what you were doing, I’ll admit. Just a little. But I understand why you did it.”

His voice is tight, though he’s trying not to let it be. Jon hesitates for a moment and then wraps his arms around his neck, pulling him down into a tight hug. Martin barely resists before crumpling. He tucks his face into the crook of Jon’s neck as a dozen eyes open in the air around them and takes a shuddering breath. Jon wouldn’t let anything happen to him, of course not. Not  _ really. _

Even now, Jon can’t seem to stop touching- pressing his palms flat against Martin’s shoulderblades, cupping the back of his neck, brushing through his hair. “Yes,” he admits. “Yes, I… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I- wasn’t sure it would be safe, or if you’d get scared knowing what was about to happen, and then…” He catches himself before describing the probable aftermath of becoming actual prey and only shrugs, for which Martin is grateful. “But it wasn’t supposed to be you,” he repeats forcefully.

A moment passes, and Martin blinks, as if clearing away the tears that have made their way to his eyes as they’ve stood here will do anything about the fact that all he can currently see is a bit of Jon’s shirt. “Jonathan Sims,” he says slowly. “Are you telling me that you were trying to get him to threaten  _ you? _ And now you’re apologizing because you failed to get yourself held at knifepoint?”

He makes a face- Martin can’t see him, but he just knows it’s happening- and says helplessly, “I’d rather it was me than you.”

“We’ve talked about the self-sacrificing thing, Jon.” He knows he’s not especially convincing while clinging to him on the edge of an emotional breakdown, but it’s true anyway, and this is the best he can manage right now.

Jon shakes his head. “It had to be one of us, and I- well, I daresay I’m something of an expert at being held hostage,” he says with a self-deprecating little laugh. “Been there, done that, literally can’t die anymore… I mean, really, what more could he have  _ done _ to me at this point?” He stops and muses, “Maybe that’s why it didn’t work.”

“What?”

“I was far more afraid of  _ you _ being hurt than I was for myself. As long as that was true… I doubt any amount of trying to make myself an easy target would have changed the outcome.”

His breath catches. “You  _ were _ trying, weren’t you? You were hanging back.” His voice turns toward accusing, even though he knows Jon is right, that it had to be one or the other of them. “Hang on, that’s why you wouldn’t tell me anything, isn’t it? You knew I would get upset, if you did.”

“And if you were upset, we’d only be in more danger,” Jon concludes tiredly. “I’m sorry. I… well, I’d like to say I would have explained it to you if I could. I know I haven’t been the most forthcoming lately.”

A little voice in Martin’s head points out that he could have found a way, if he’d really wanted to, probably. There had been a long stretch  _ before _ they reached the Hunt where it wouldn’t have been dangerous at all to bring it up. He pushes the voice away. Maybe Jon hadn’t Known what they needed to do until they got there, and he shouldn’t make assumptions either way.

“It’s okay,” he says at last. “I get it.” He doesn’t, and they both know it, but what else can he say? His face is still smushed into Jon’s collar. He’s still reluctant to raise his head again, having been so sharply reminded of the dangers of leaving his neck exposed.

As if he’s sensed the thought, Jon shifts, coaxing Martin to look up with hands on his face. When they’re looking each other in the eye, he smiles and leans up to kiss him, soft and brief. “Thank you,” he murmurs. It isn’t clear what specifically he’s thanking Martin  _ for. _ “Oh, hold on.” He half-kneels and starts rummaging through one of their bags, and when he comes back up it’s with a box of plasters in his hand.

There’s no real need for it- the bleeding stopped after only a few minutes- and Martin gives him an inquisitive look. He looks slightly embarrassed and explains, “It- you might feel better with it covered. I, uh, have found that it helps, in these situations.”

Martin swallows and nods stiffly. They don’t exactly have a mirror, so… “Alright. Go ahead.”

His pulse flutters under Jon’s fingers as he carefully sticks the bandage on. It only takes a second, but a second can feel like a very long time. When he’s finished, he says, “There,” very softly, and just as softly presses his lips to the skin just above the small wound. Martin makes a reflexive little noise, and he blinks up at him. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” This comes out very soft, too. “Thanks.” Jon was right. He does feel a little bit better, although it’s unclear how much of that is the plaster and how much is the way Jon put it on for him. They’re still just inches apart, so it’s easy to close the distance and fold them together again. “I love you,” he says, muffled into Jon’s hair.

Jon exhales slowly. “I love you, too.” Some of the ever-present tension drains from his posture, and it seems there was more of it there than Martin even realized. He shows no sign of moving. Maybe he never would, if it was up to him.

Martin hates to have to tell him otherwise, but Basira and Daisy are waiting a little ways off for them to finish their talk, and they’re probably getting impatient. “Are you ready to keep going?”

He shakes his head at first, hands clenching in the fabric of Martin’s shirt, but he does step away, however reluctantly. "I suppose. If we must."

"Afraid so," he sighs. “Unless you want them to come looking for us.”

Jon grimaces at the thought of the teasing they’d have to put up with after that. “No, thank you.” He holds a hand out to Martin, who takes it automatically. “Time to go, then.” Holding securely to each other, they leave their little bubble of created peace to keep pushing onward.


End file.
